


The Road to Hell

by Dodoa



Series: Aftermath [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Self-Hatred, Sherlock-centric, Songfic, Stream of Consciousness, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 12:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11600487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dodoa/pseuds/Dodoa
Summary: He’d broken his promise and killed Mary. He deserved his trip to hell.A look at Sherlock’s state of mind during “The Lying Detective” carried along by the lyrics of “Breaking the Habit” by Linkin Park.





	The Road to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story several weeks ago and I picked out the lyrics weeks before that. So, this wasn’t intended to be a tribute, it just happened to be finished now. That being said, Linkin Park is one of my favourite bands and Chester’s voice has calmed me down and made me feel better on so many occasions and I still can’t quite believe that he’s gone. My heart goes out to his family and bandmembers. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings for suicidal thoughts and drug use.

_Memories consume_  
_like opening the wound_  
_I’m picking me apart again._

Sherlock was back in the aquarium, blue light dancing across the scene giving it a dream-like quality, but then this was a dream. Memory, whatever. The third tonight if he remembered right, dreams made things like time and causality fuzzier than he was entirely comfortable with, even when he knew he was dreaming. It was worse when he didn’t know. Was there anything he hadn’t tried yet? _Maybe try not antagonizing the person with the gun for a change?_ John’s voice, filled with well-deserved hatred. Had he really not tried that yet? Surely it must have occurred to him before, he’s been doing this for the last three nights straight after all. Memory was another thing that didn’t work like it was supposed to in dreams. He’d try again, though. For John.

Enter the room.

Talk. About fish if you have to.

If you look properly and observe, you can tell Amo has a gun.

Don’t antagonize.

Let her do the talking.

Pretend you don’t know the story of the meeting in Samarra, let her tell it.

Don’t draw attention to Mary, she’ll be noticed regardless, but it allows you to avoid getting to the big reveal too soon. You know John will bring reinforcements.

They take too long, you can’t keep her here without revealing what you know. John still hasn’t arrived.

Keep your attention on the danger. Ignore Mary. She knows when to stay silent.

Let her talk, listen as she tells you the whole story of why and how, don’t tell her you could read everything she’s saying and more in a glance.

Play for time until Mycroft and Lestrade arrive.

The building is surrounded, she doesn’t have a way out.

John walks in and is greeted by Mary, just as Amo realises it really is over.

But she knows she still has time to hurt someone.

And why should she be the only one meeting death in Samarra?

If Mary hadn’t gotten away in Tbilisi, none of this would have happened to her.

A gun is pointed.

Sherlock tries to move but he is too slow, always too slow.

A trigger is pulled.

John is fast enough to intercept the bullet.

The dream never ends exactly the same way twice, but it always ends in death.

The best he’s been able to do so far, was to get shot himself instead of letting his friends take the bullet.

There was a reason he’d antagonised her, he’d known she had a gun and that she would use it if she was cornered.

It should have been him.

_You all assume,_  
_I’m safe here in my room,_  
_unless I try to start again._

Mrs Hudson was in his living room. Again. She had been spending most of her time in his flat the last few days, ever since Mary died. If he didn’t know better he’d say she was babysitting him. Of course, he did know better and she was absolutely trying to babysit him, at least that’s what she told herself. Really, they were just keeping each other company. If she were being serious about keeping an eye on him, she wouldn’t allow him to spend hours in his room without checking on him when he’d had enough of her company. She knew him well enough to know that he was perfectly capable of climbing out of a first-floor window if he had to and maybe she thought that he’d do just that to spite her if he got the impression that she had an agenda beyond wanting some company. Under any other circumstances she probably would have been right, but right now it was good to know that there would be someone there when he left his room after spending the night replaying those crucial minutes at the aquarium over and over again. And if he had to pretend that he didn’t notice how she searched his flat whenever she got the chance, that was a price he was willing to pay.

She was trying to subtly push him towards John again, too, but on this she wasn’t going to win. Probably. No, definitely. Even if she was right, which she probably wasn’t, there was no way he’d dare to do anything that might fuck everything up even more than he already had. Because right now, while John had refused to see him in the immediate aftermath and wasn’t answering his texts or taking his calls, there had been no explicit rejection since the one at the aquarium, which didn’t count, the first 24 hours never did, and for all Sherlock knew, John might be ignoring his phone completely. As long as he didn’t force a decision from John, by ringing his doorbell or breaking into his house, everything might potentially sort itself out given some time. So Sherlock had limited himself to one unobtrusive text a day, to make sure John knew he was there if his support was wanted, just in case the current radio silence wasn’t personal, when his first impulse was to go to John, to try and help, even if he wasn’t the kind of person anyone would want for emotional support. To do so, though, was to risk rejection and Sherlock didn’t think he could take that. To know that he’d finally found the one thing that was unforgivable.

_I don’t want to be the one_  
_the battles always choose._

“Go to Hell, Sherlock. Go right into Hell, and make it look like you mean it. Go and pick a fight with a bad guy. Put yourself in harm’s way. If he thinks you need him, I swear he will be there.”

“You’re not really going to do that, are you?” Mrs Hudson asked once the recording ended. Damn he’d forgotten she was still there. She’d try and talk him out of it now. Because of course he was going to do it, Mary was right, and while he might not like the plan, maybe part of him did, but the rest of him hated that he liked it, it made an awful lot of sense. Helping was just what John did. That was how everything had started, John helping Sherlock make a point and chase a serial killer and finally saving his life. It was how Sherlock had drawn him back in again and again. Help me. I need you. If inconvenient come anyway. One text and John would drop everything.

“What else is there to do?” Sherlock shrugged. Of course, he could try to fool Mrs Hudson, but she’d never fully believe him if he told her that of course he wasn’t going to follow Mary’s ridiculous plan and then she’d watch him even more closely than she already was and she’d try to stop him and she might tell John too soon and too much and ruin the whole plan. Much better to try and downplay how far he’d be willing to go, downplay the danger so she wouldn’t interfere prematurely. Having her partially in on the plan might actually help to keep things running smoothly.

“Why don’t you just talk to John, don’t wait for him to contact you. That’s one thing Mary was right about, he’d never ask for help, but I’m sure he won’t send you away if you offer.” She was wrong of course, but then Mrs Hudson didn’t know that Mary’s death was Sherlock’s fault and that frankly it would be a miracle if John ever talked to him again. That was the truth of it. John wasn’t just ignoring his phone completely, John was ignoring Sherlock specifically and he was right to do so. Sherlock hadn’t been avoiding the confrontation to give John space, he’d been avoiding it because he knew how it would end and he didn’t want to face his complete failure. But it was time to stop kidding himself. He’d placate Mrs Hudson by visiting John and prove her wrong in the process. She’d have to let him try Mary’s plan then.

He’d broken his promise and killed Mary. He deserved his trip to hell.

_‘Cause inside I realise_  
_that I’m the one confused._

He did realise that there was a chance that the only reason Mary’s plan seemed so perfect was that it was so easy to interpret it in the way he wanted and if he wanted, it gave him a perfect excuse. Of course, there was more than one way to put himself in harm’s way as Mary had put it, but his mind had immediately gone to the least acceptable one, the one Mary probably hadn’t meant. She’d said he should pick a fight with a bad guy, but he’d only heard ‘go to hell, Sherlock’ and a self-destructive spiral of drug use sounded far too appealing right now. The bad guy could come in later. After all he was supposed to give John something ‘doctorly’ to do and there never was a guarantee that a case would result in danger and injury and the please-forgive-me-we’re-both-going-to-die trick probably wouldn’t work a second time.

_I don’t know what’s worth fighting for_  
_or why I have to scream._

And if Mary was wrong? If John didn’t let Sherlock draw him in again? If John didn’t care?

In John’s letter it had certainly sounded like saving Sherlock was the last thing John would want to do.

Well, then he’d have failed again. There’d be no point in delaying the inevitable. If he couldn’t do what Mary was asking, if he couldn’t save John, what was the point in him being alive and Mary being dead?

What was the point in him being alive?

He’d probably fail.

Just like he always did when it mattered.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was still trying.

_I don’t know why I instigate_  
_and say what I don’t mean._

He would try though, even if he already knew how it would end. He owed that to Mary. He would put his everything in it, plan every move in advance. He wouldn’t just make it look like he meant it; he’d do one better and actually mean it. It wouldn’t be enough of course, he never was. Never would be. There wasn’t really a point in trying, but he owed it to Mary.

He’d have to wait a bit though. Put on his best façade and wait for everyone to check on him. Lestrade was due tomorrow, possibly the day after. Sherlock would convince him that everything was fine, ask for cases, be his usual self and alienate Lestrade so much that he wouldn’t come back until he was well and truly stumped on a case. Getting his name wrong a couple of times should do the trick.

Mycroft wouldn’t come, if he knew there was a reason to check on him he would have done so already. Good, Sherlock had never been sure he could fool his brother when they were face to face, there was always the possibility that Mycroft was letting him win. Still he’d have to make sure not to get caught on any cameras later.

Molly might stop by, if she wasn’t too busy helping John with Rosie, but she’d already texted him the night after she’d given him John’s message and he’d told her that he hadn’t expected his help to be welcome, but it would have been rude not to offer. He’d made sure that she believed that Mary’s death had been his fault so she’d stick with John. John needed her help more than Sherlock did.

Mrs Hudson was the only one he didn’t have to worry about. She might not like the plan, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop him from executing it. He’d told her that either she could help and make sure it was all worth it or he’d leave and let it play out somewhere else, which would be far more dangerous. Sherlock also hadn’t been above guilt-tripping her about her insistence that he’d talk to John and how that had backfired. In the end, she’d agreed to be the one to draw John in at the right time.

_I don’t know how I got this way,_  
_I know it’s not alright._

Despite what John might think, Sherlock was aware that what he was planning to do was more than just a bit not good. As long as everything went according to plan, as much as a plan like this could go according to plan, it would be alright, but if anything went wrong… He couldn’t really pretend that no one would care if he died anymore, not after attending his own funeral. Still Mary’s plan had an appeal like little else at the moment, and not just because it was an excuse to use.

_So I’m_  
_breaking the habit_  
_tonight._

This was it. All the preparations were done. There were alarms in his phone that would remind him if parts of the plan escaped his mind later in the game, making sure he’d stick to the timing. There were texts pre-written to be sent to Mrs Hudson and Molly at the right moment. Everything was ready, only one thing left to do.

He texted Billy a list. Half an hour later he had everything he needed.

_Clutching my cure_  
_I tightly lock the door_  
_I try to catch my breath again_

No turning back now. No more second guessing. He’d sent Billy away with strict instructions about when to return and what to bring. There was a strict timeline to this and he couldn’t risk losing focus. There was a fine line he’d have to walk in this downwards spiral towards hell between making it look like he meant it and actually meaning it. Because if he meant it too much there might not be a way back at the end and then he’d have failed Mary completely. He had to make sure that there would still be something left for John to save at the end of it and he wasn’t sure he he’d remember that later. That’s why Billy had his instructions, he wouldn’t supply any more than what Sherlock had determined he’d need, thereby keeping him on track.

It would work. It had to.

He took his time preparing the first syringe, cocaine first, he still had work to do, had to find a bad guy to pick a fight with. It was all muscle memory and he was done before he knew it. Nothing for it now, no more prevaricating.

And then it hit and he knew, everything would work out. He could do this. He could do anything.

_I hurt much more_  
_than anytime before._

The invincible feeling didn’t last for long. It never did.

Suddenly everything was worse than it had been before. Suddenly he was choking back tears, secure in the knowledge that this was the absolute worst of all possible universes and there was nothing he could do to fix this. The plan was sure to fail, no question about it.

He wanted the invincibility back, regardless of how fake it was. Just one more. It would barely throw off the schedule. Just one more.

_I had no options left again._

The next day Sherlock texted Billy to bring the next batch early. It would still be fine as long as Sherlock managed to find a bad guy quickly, so he could get on with the plan. Putting out a call for clients would be done in an instant and hopefully get him a nice, dangerous case in a matter of days.

_I’ll paint it on the walls._

And he did find a case. Serial killer. Celebrity. Perfect. He almost regretted that he wouldn’t be able to fully savour it. By then Billy was there almost all the time, that hadn’t been part of the plan, had it? Anyway, it was fortunate that he’d been there when things had gotten out of hand for a bit there, but everything was back on track now, he had a case to keep him focused now. He was still on schedule as long as he kept following the instructions as they appeared on his phone.

Find a case. Done.

Solve it. Done, he knew who the murderer was, the rest was just details.

Arrange a meeting with John and the bad guy. Done.

Escalate. Spiral down into hell. Done, too early but still done.

Wait for Mrs Hudson to get you to John. Shouldn’t that be happening by now?

_‘Cause I’m the one at fault._

The journey in the trunk had been unexpected, but then the gun might have been overkill. But he’d needed something to distract him while he waited. And waited. He could have sworn there wasn’t that much time allocated between the finding of a case and the start of John’s involvement. His phone was saying that everything was going according to plan though, so there was nothing to worry about. Maybe the days just seemed longer because he wasn’t sleeping. Something was nagging him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Something he should have done, a mistake, the fly in the ointment. He’d tried to remember but there had been so much. So much he should have done, so many mistakes, his fault all of it. He was fixing it though. Everything was going according to plan.

That Faith hadn’t been Faith was a bit of a problem, but it didn’t make Culverton Smith any less a serial killer. There had been other evidence once Faith, or more likely his subconscious, had put him on the trail. None of what he’d uncovered would stand up court of course, or even get the police to investigate, but there had been evidence. Culverton Smith was a serial killer and if Faith wasn’t going to help Sherlock expose him he’d have to force a confrontation another way. A way that would leave him in harm’s way so John could finally save him.

John’s rage, coming right on the heels of the fake-Faith, hadn’t been expected either. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. Sherlock realised far too late, that maybe the drugs had been a mistake. They’d always made John angry. Add to that that Sherlock had more or less killed Mary, he really should have expected it. Unexpected as the ferocity of the attack was, it did fit into the plan quite well and it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve the beating. It had the added benefit of putting him in the dubious care of a serial killer and thereby definitely in harm’s way. It had always been a possibility, in case Faith didn’t show up, getting himself admitted to Smith’s hospital to get a confession when Smith tried to kill him, before John came to his rescue. Except John wouldn’t want to save him now. There should be a backup plan for this kind of situation. Probably. Though having John save him had been the whole point, so why would there be a backup plan for John not caring about saving him? Not that it really mattered. He’d probably just lost John for real with his miscalculation. He should have stuck to the bones of Mary’s plan, instead of improvising just to get what he wanted. The drugs hadn’t been necessary and Mary probably hadn’t meant for him to do that. There were enough other ways to be self-destructive enough to need saving and if he’d used any of those, John might still be here, might still be willing to save him. There probably wasn’t a backup plan for this, because that would be kind of pointless. If John didn’t care about Sherlock anymore, there was nothing Sherlock could do to save him and what use was a backup plan when you’d already lost? And what was his life worth, if he couldn’t even save the person he cared about the most? If Mary had been wrong and it wasn’t Sherlock John needed to save him, what had been the point in her sacrifice?

_I’ll never fight again_  
_and this is how it ends._

He almost didn’t ask nurse Cornish to switch out the bags, almost let the opportunity pass. If John wasn’t going to come to his rescue anyway, what good would it do to play for time? Culverton Smith would realise that he wasn’t dying from the suggested overdose and find another, probably more painful way to finish Sherlock off. Was a painless death really too much to ask for?

_I don’t know what’s worth fighting for_  
_or why I have to scream._

In the end, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bring himself to willingly squander Mary’s sacrifice, as misguided as it had been. If he was going to die, he’d die fighting. Not that there was much fight left in him, but no one would be able to claim that he hadn’t done everything in his power to survive, well, apart from not getting himself in this mess in the first place.

Sherlock must have dropped off again, because suddenly Smith was in the room with him. He didn’t know how long it had been, whether Mrs Hudson had had time to direct John to Mary’s message yet, if John even let her. It didn’t really matter. There would still be enough time once Smith started the ‘overdose’, so if John was still willing to come to Sherlock’s rescue, he’d get here in time and if he wasn’t, it didn’t matter.

It was surprisingly easy to give Smith what he wanted. When he’d planned for this outcome, Sherlock hadn’t been sure he’d be able to pull it off, but back then he hadn’t even considered the possibility that John might not come, he hadn’t expected such a high probability of actually dying. He hadn’t expected to be scared.

‘I’m scared of dying.’

Typical, the only person he could be honest with, the only person who would listen was a serial killer about to murder him. It was supposed to be an act though.

‘I don’t want to die.’

Debatable, but at its heart another truth. Just because you didn’t want to be alive at the moment, didn’t automatically mean you wanted to die. Sometimes it took getting up close to death and staring it in the eye to remember that, but he always did remember in time to avert it. Until now. There was no way he could fight Smith in this state. It was all on John now and Sherlock had never been less confident that he’d be there when he was needed.

Smith’s impatience was another unpleasant surprise. Even if he’d been sure that John would show up, this turn of events would have been a problem. Depending on how long Sherlock had been asleep, there might not have been enough time for John to find out the truth and come back to the hospital before it was too late. It was one thing to die because John hadn’t come to his rescue at all, it was another thing entirely to die despite John’s best efforts to save him, because of his own miscalculation. He almost hoped that John wouldn’t even try, if he was going to fail anyway.

_But now I have some clarity_  
_to show you what I mean._

But of course, John had been there in time. And John had left him his old cane and thereby salvaged the investigation on top of saving Sherlock’s life. That hadn’t been part of the plan either. Of course not. Why would John leaving for good be part of the plan? But John had believed it and Sherlock had let him instead of explaining that he’d hidden the recording device in there before he’d faked his death. That one probably wouldn’t have gone over well.

Just because John had come to prevent his murder didn’t mean that they were still friends of course. John would do that for anyone. He was good like that. The fact that John had kept checking on him almost daily, while he’d been in hospital didn’t mean much either. He’d done the same for an almost-murder victim they’d fished out of the Thames about a month before Rosie had been born. John saw it as his duty to check on the progress of his patients even when they weren’t his patients any longer and that apparently also applied to those he’d put in hospital. Not that John was solely responsible for his stay. If the beating had been the extent of it, they’d have monitored him overnight for the concussion and sent him home the next day. John never stayed longer than it took to read Sherlock’s chart and exchange a few words. Of course, between full time work at the surgery and Rosie there probably wouldn’t be more time even if John had wanted to stay longer.

When John turned up at Baker Street, just when Lestrade was leaving after giving him a lift from the hospital, Sherlock had dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d still be able to fix their friendship. That was until John told him why he was actually there and instead of shutting up and taking what he could get, keeping John for another twenty minutes until it was Molly’s turn, of course he had to push, to test, to see if John was here because he cared and wanted to help or if he just felt obligated to. And John took the bait. Which turned out to mean very little, because Sherlock was keeping John from his daughter and he wouldn’t have won that fight even back when everything had been alright between them. And then John stayed anyway. Of course, helped along by the surprisingly well-timed text message, but John had seemed reluctant to leave before that, at least Sherlock hoped so.

_I don’t know how I got this way,_  
_I’ll never be alright._

At least not alone.

He needed John.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally hadn’t planned to do an instalment for TLD for this series, but when I was going through song lyrics to find ones that are appropriate for the other parts I’ve planes I realised that these lyrics fit so perfectly I couldn’t not do it.
> 
> A big thanks to Ariane DeVere for her fabulous transcripts of the series. They spared me a lot of re-watching and while I do like the episode, it is quite emotionally draining and not something I’ll watch very often I think.


End file.
